


Prophecy

by kaermorhencalls



Series: The Legend of Denmark and Norway [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Mythological Norway, Origin Stories: Norway, References to Norse Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:49:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorhencalls/pseuds/kaermorhencalls
Summary: Who is Norway? What do the gods have in store for him? What does Denmark have to do with any of it?
Relationships: Denmark/Norway (Hetalia)
Series: The Legend of Denmark and Norway [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103720
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a wee little drabble talking about aleks' prophetic fate

The seers say that the son of Óðinn would raze the ground of his enemies if they so deny the Kingdom of Denmark to him. That the berserker son, the one who cast longer shadows than his father ever dreamed, would cradle Norway in his palms and would weave Denmark into his dynasty for ages to come.

Aleksander thought it was all a bunch of horse shit.

They had deemed him the son of the All-Father when he walked out of the forest with ravens on his shoulders and eyes the color of the sky as Northern Lights danced across it; a deep, consuming indigo that sometimes seemed to shift like those very same aurorae. He felt the pulse of the land beneath his feet as an extension of himself. Every man, woman and child were his kin, every animal part of his flock. They might think him the son of a god, but Aleksander was much more than that.

He was the land, was the people, was the sea that lapped the shores. He was the heartbeat of Norway, the keeper of the realm as Heimdallr kept the Bifrost.

He was also its protector, the courage that lived in the veins of Vikings and the honor and glory they sought. The fervor, the ferocity, the bloodlust.

Aleksander was a proclaimed son of the Aesir, but he was also their soldier. One of the Úlfhéðnar, where the battle lived in him as it lived on the land. Blind to pain, blind to fear and danger. He wore blood and death like warpaint, his heritage of the Aesir burning in him unheeded and unstoppable.

He was war-forged, a weapon to be wielded and directed, and to be feared. People feared Norway, the man who stood head and shoulders above his people to be closer to the skies where the ravens flew, where his father would watch him with one-eye and an all-knowing smile. Óðinn knew Aleksander, had cultivated him beneath the roots of the Yggdrasill where the coldest of the world’s waters ran upon the world. Where Hel’s pet dragon stood watch, breathing warmth into the boy so he knew of both life and death, and had knowledge imparted to him by Huginn and Muninn who would become his guardians within the realm of Midgard.

Aleksander did not know any of these things, but the seers murmured them as he passed by,an inky black raven feather tucked in his braid and the birds sitting with too-intelligent eyes in the boughs of trees nearby.

The seers had gotten it wrong, though. He would not burn a warpath through those who would keep his kingdom and destiny from him. He would not scorch the land in his fury to reclaim what was rightfully his.

He did not understand this until he stood over a ravaged battlefield, heart pounding out of his chest as he searched and searched for his friend. His dear friend whom he had gone into battle with but had lost amongst the fray.

The bloodlust was not able to tamp down those creepings of fear, the tricklings of despair washing over him like a storm-charged rain at the thought of his life being lost amongst the dead, and not being able to properly send him to meet the Valkyries. He cared deeply; deeper than he’d ever cared about someone before in his entire life. Because Mathias was special, was one of the land, of the seas and of the people like he was.

_Kongeriket Danmark._

Mathias was his destiny.

Aleksander realised that while he was the brute force behind the swing of an axe, Mathias was the cutting edge that would carve into a man’s flesh.

Aleksander himself was the gift to be given, made by the Gods themselves for the Kingdom of Denmark to temper, to forge into a formidable weapon that no mortal tool could re-shape. He was to stand back-to-back against the tides of the world and remain resolute with Denmark. To protect, and to in turn be protected.

He was stronger with Mathias. They were stronger together.

* * *

Over the broken and blood-slicked ground, Aleksander ran. 

The heavens opened up above him, the crash and clash of thunder echoing down the fjord while lightning cast stark shadows across countless bodies. The pulse of the land beneath him and the deadened silence or dying gasps of mortal men drove him farther. While these were his people, his brothers in arms beneath him, destiny did not wait for anything.

Fate refused to wait even for Aleksander to torch the battlefield, to send the souls to the Valkyr who were no doubt circling in the thunderhead. The choosers of the slain would just wait for their chance to pick over the bodies for the best souls, the hardest fought men and women to send to the Halls of the Gods. The rain continued to fall, and Aleksander continued to trek over the scorched and muddied land, uncaring and taking no notice of the ravens waiting in the trees nearby.

For his entire life, he has felt the pull of the Norns. At times the presence of the fates was little more than gentle whispers of suggestions, and other times it was like a shove in the right direction. That shove was what led him to the fighting ring to challenge the other young men for rights to the first raid.

It was his stubbornness and pride that ultimately led him to meet Denmark, who at the time was a lanky and thin teenager with a swagger and a smirk that made Aleksander’s teeth set on edge for no good reason. It was that same lanky young man that put Aleksander face first in the dirt. It appeared that such a punishment, or humiliation, was earned for all of his disbelief that Mathias was anything more than a fool for challenging Aleks of all people.

Aleks fought him repeatedly after that, each time they fought he only managed to end up being side-stepped or thrown into the dirt. Mathias was quick and smart; witty where Aleksander was blunt, and lithe where Aleks was bulky.

But they knew the moment they interacted that there was something less than human about the both of them, a thread that tied them together amongst the wash of humanity and mortality that they were living in. 

It was where Aleksander felt at home for the first time, a welcome change to something he had been seeking for years though had no idea how to find. He was not gawked at or made a spectacle of because he was the son of the All-Father, was the man who became a beast upon the battlefield. 

He was just Aleksander; a man just like Mathias with a bloody, beating heart. They found comfort in the sameness and even the differences, for they were pieces to one puzzle, complementary in battle and life. No matter what was going on, they found solid comfort in each other’s presence. 

The realization hit him like a shield to the back of the head, taking his breath away as he saw the Dane sitting up against a nearby tree, looking bloody but still alive. Aleks could feel the pulse of the threads tied between them, urging him closer. He went without hesitation.

He could not do this without Mathias. The thought of losing him was pure torture.

Aleksander knew nothing of love, but he could only guess that this is what it was like. It was home and comfort and laughter, dependability, and loyalty. It was wanting to be close, to protect someone else even if it meant to be in pain themselves. It was selflessness and selfish desire,

The Norwegian carried the Dane from the field, back to their camp which was now eerily silent as the battle had claimed so many. Aleks was no healer but their sort did not need much fretting over. So he tidied up the Dane and patched his wounds, sitting bedside until a wheezy groan of pain cut the damp, dark air.

“Mathias?” Aleksander murmured roughly, a hand resting on the Danish man’s muddy hair, though his fingers curled through it as if it were clean and soft. It was an action he found himself doing whenever he greeted the Dane, for no reason other than the soft smile it tended to create on Mathias’ face.

“Valhalla?” He croaked, squinting into the darkness though radiant ice-blue eyes seemed to glow in the low light. He was alive, and Aleks just breathed a low laugh. Unable to stop himself or think too much on it as the threads spun between the two of them pulled tight at their proximity, Aleks slowly leaned over the groggy Dane and kissed him, hard. Recklessly, unashamedly. 

Mathias was his destiny, that was true. But it seemed the meaning of such a destiny could take many forms.

“Not even close,” Aleks muttered when they parted, breathless and pink-cheeked while Mathias looked stunned, mouth hanging open like a fish pulled from the seas and left gasping on the deck of a ship. 

Mathias laughed and pulled Aleksander close once again, and the Norns knew they had done their proper job to bring Norway and Denmark onto their proper path, moving together as one united entity no matter their borders. 


End file.
